The Legend of the Bloodstone
Read The Legend of the Bloodstone Online
Authors: E B Brown
| The Legend of the Bloodstone |
| E B Brown |
| Blue Dog Press (2013) |
In 2012, a woman cuts her hand and picks up a strange colored stone -
Suddenly she is staring into the eyes of an angry Powhatan warrior.
And the only town nearby is Jamestown, circa 1622.
Maggie McMillan wakes up one day as a college student, yet ends the day as the Red Woman: A legendary Time Walker that every loyal Powhatan brave wants to kill. Captured by Winkeohkwet, a warrior who is torn between his duty to kill her and his desire to keep her, she is thrust into a life she had only read about in history books.
Hunted and feared by both the Powhatan and the English, she struggles to find a way home while Winkeohkwet plots to keep her there. Maggie fights to survive as she finds herself entangled in the Indian Massacre of 1622, and Winkeohkwet sees everything he ever believed in shattered by the knowledge she holds.
As they battle against each other and the message she brings from the future, she must decide whether to return to her own time, or to make a life in the past with the man who holds her heart captive.
E.B. Brown enjoys researching history and genealogy, and uses her findings to cultivate new ideas for her writing. The Legend of the Bloodstone, Time Walkers Book 1, is her debut novel in Fantasy/Time-Travel Romance. She resides on the East Coast with her husband, daughter, and two Great Danes.
THE
LEGEND
OF THE
BLOODSTONE
E.B. Brown
The Legend of the Bloods
tone
E.B. Brown
Amazon.com Edition
Copyright
2012 E.B. Brown
All rights reserved. No part of this publication
may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
To
J.P.S. and T.G.S.
Table of Contents
Part One
A s
hortcut to the other side
Chapter
1
James County, Virginia
October 2012
“Stupid freakin’ barn,” she muttered.
There really
was no good reason for her to be out in the old barn this late, but she would lose what was left of her composure if she sat in the empty house any longer. She could hear grampa as if he stood there beside her, his accent slurring his words together as it did when he was angry.
“Maggie-
mae, yer head is full of bricks, I swear it, girl!”
A
lthough she wanted to smile at the thought, she could not. It was still too fresh, too raw. Her lips twisted downward, and she shook off the flash of anger that surged as she thrust her fists into her front jean pockets and took a swipe at a tuft of loose straw with her boot.
Death sucked; there was nothing much more to say about it
. No one to blame, no way for her to fight the advance of time. The Reaper claimed him, and there was not a blessed thing she could do about it.
Making things right around the farm?
Well, there was a problem she could manage, and she had two good hands and two strong legs to work with. At least it was something.
Sunset
dipped away beyond the horizon and the crimson orange sky streaked with that glowing time of peace before nightfall, her anger seeming like an intrusion into the cycle of nature. The wind kicked up, fluttering the edges of her red parka, so she zipped it fully closed, putting off the luxury of mourning when there was so much work to do. She heard the roar of the waterfall beyond the meadow, the riverbanks swollen to overflowing from the recent storm, leaving the ground sodden, like an overused sponge.
Her
hood fell back off her head with the next gust of wind and the rain soaked her long hair as she walked through the courtyard back to the barn, the damp earth squishing beneath her boots.
The
old dairy barn loomed first on her to-do list. Over one hundred years old, the Pennsylvania blue stone foundation stood crumbling in some spots, in dire need of reinforcement. Determined to ready it for the construction work, she labored to clear the debris most of the afternoon. It was a solitary task, one that kept her occupied until early evening, but she was pleased with her efforts and glad for the distraction. It would be quite useful as a private foaling box when it was finally finished, far enough from the main horse barn to provide a birthing sanctuary for the broodmares.
Maggie shook the stiff work gloves off her soiled hands and threw them onto the bale of musty straw at her feet.
The muscles in her shoulders ached and her legs cramped at the effort, but she bent to tighten the laces on her sodden work boots anyway. She rested one hand against the cold stonewall to balance herself, but as she rose up she noticed a few rocks cluttering the ground. She considered ignoring the debris, yet then felt foolish after she worked so hard all day. What was a few more minutes picking up rocks?
“
Move yer lazy ass!” she berated herself. A laugh escaped her lips at the thought of how silly it was to be talking to no one in an empty barn, and she promptly bent to the task. She grasped the hem of her parka upward until it pouched, then tossed a few of the smaller stones into her makeshift bucket. As she reached out closer to the wall to chase a stone poking out beneath the scattered straw, something sharp jabbed her fingers and she drew back at the flash of pain.
“
Damnit!” she muttered. She jerked her arm away and sat back on her heels, grasping her throbbing fingers with her other hand and trying to hold the parka up with her elbow. A trickle of bright red blood dripped from two torn digits, both sliced clean across the fingertips. She instinctively raised them to her lips and stuck them in her mouth, and her rock collection tumbled to the floor. It was a disgusting habit, probably not very sanitary, but it was the only thing to do at the time.
To her dismay,
her questionable method did little to stem the bleeding. She swore a few words under her breath, and kicked her boot across the straw to find the source of her injury. It would likely turn out to be a rusted nail or piece of metal, and she scowled when she figured her tetanus shot was most likely overdue.
“What addles
yer brain, Maggie? I told you I would clear the barn!”
Fingers still clenched around her bleeding hand, she glanced up to see
her friend Marcus striding toward the barn. Eighteen years her senior and adamant about a promise to her grandfather to watch over her, he took his oath seriously, watching for a chance to swoop in and honor his duty. His hulking shoulders braced against the rain, the moisture dappling his unruly swatch of black hair and dripping into rivulets down his tight jaw. She could see his thick dark brows furrow over the slit of his eyes as he approached, stomping through the mud and apparently oblivious to the slush he sent flying in his wake.
“
Me brain is just fine, Marcus,” she teased, mimicking his thick brogue. His brows narrowed but his eyes twinkled as she rolled her eyes upward and gave him a half-hearted grin, holding up her damaged digits for his inspection. The wound to her fingers continued pulsing, obviously in need of a few stitches. “But my fingers have a little problem.”
“
Funny girl,” he grumbled as he inspected her hand. “What on earth! Did you need to work yerself bloody? Couldn’t just listen to me for once and stay in the house, you red-headed hellion!” he snapped.
“I couldn’t stay in there anymore,
Marcus…I needed to be busy.”
He
blotted her bleeding hand with the edge of his flannel shirt, but raised his gaze to hers at her response. His faced creased and his eyes widened as she scrunched her nose and tried to shake off the glimmer of wetness threatening to spill from her eyes.
“Ach, I’m sorry
,” he grunted, dropping her hand and pulling her into his arms. “I didn’t mean to shout at you, Maggie-mae. Your granddad would kick my arse for treating you so.”
“I can kick your ass on my own,” she sniffed, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. His chest rumbled and his arms tightened around her as he chuckled, and she could not resist a poorly aimed punch to his kidney.
“Maybe, my wee terror, maybe,” he agreed. With one calloused hand, he smoothed her damp hair from her forehead and planted a kiss on her brow. “But I miss him, too, you know, verra much.” His thick brogue cracked with the words, and Maggie flinched at the uncommon emotion. Marcus had always been her constant, steady throughout any crisis. The oldest friend of her grandfather and the closest thing to family she had, the solemn giant was all that was left to keep her grounded to a life that seemed more like a distant dream.
“Yeah, well, there’s still work to do,” she mumbled
, uncomfortable at sharing his sadness lest she fall down a slope with no way to scramble out. She stepped away from him and wiped her hand on the leg of her denim jeans, avoiding his gaze to avert any more shared grief.
“Aye, there is, but you need a few stitches first. The mess will still be here on the morrow, I pr
omise to leave it for you, but you’re done for tonight. I’ll bring the truck around, wait here out of the rain.”